


Dream and pity

by Vault_Emblem



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, Crying, Dreams and Nightmares, M/M, Mistakes, Non-Graphic Smut, Pity Sex, Rage, Self-Pity, but since he's Nelo Angelo I figured to tag him as well, pre DMC5, well Vergil technically isn't here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 09:31:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18825919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vault_Emblem/pseuds/Vault_Emblem
Summary: In his dreams, V meets a familiar person.





	Dream and pity

**Author's Note:**

> This was an idea that was going around Discord and I've decided to write something about it
> 
> Twitter: @vault_emblem  
> Tumblr: bi-naesala

Dreaming is a weird subject for V. One wouldn't expect such a human thing from him, but after all who better than him can represent humanity? Who better than that piece of heart that was discarded away like trash?

And so V dreams, but are they really dreams, those? They feel more like memories, but they're vivid, and V can walk freely through one and another.

He stayed at his old house, watching over himself – and yet not himself as he is not complete anymore – play with his brother, he relived the night in which he lost everything.

 

He knew that sooner or later something like this was going to come.

It's time for him to face his worse fears.

 

He knows something's wrong this time.

The place he's dreaming about is not on earth.

He recognizes it and he feels a chill down his spine.

 

He doesn't want to be here.

He wants to wake up.

His whole body hurts, pulses, and he falls to his knees.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

 

It's then that he sees him.

Vines are keeping him still, but unlike what he would do at first, the body is unmoving.

He's giving up.

 

Rage boils inside of V.

How dares he?

It's his fault he's feeling so much pain.

It's his fault he's in this whole mess.

It's his fault he's hurting all over.

He is the cause of all his misery, he and his stubbornness and pride and...

 

Why did he let himself fall?

Why couldn't he just admit defeat?

Why did he have to be so stupid?

 

It’s just out of spite that he moves, his body aching at every step, a reminder of the countless tortures he had to endure.

He takes the other’s face between his shaking hands. His skin is sickly white, striped by blue, unnatural veins; his red eyes are staring at him and yet they aren’t. They appear unfocused, as if they couldn’t actually see what is right in front of them.

 

Nelo Angelo he’s called but for V, that’s his greatest failure.

 

That gentle touch becomes something more and V forcefully – with a strength that he didn’t even know he possessed – pins him to the ground, shaking him and keeping yelling “WHY?” at the top of his lungs, but Nelo doesn’t make any motions; it’s like he’s not even feeling this.

 

His movements are desperate when he closes his fingers around Nelo’s throat. He knows this is just a dream, he just this won’t change anything, but even that small, simple gesture sends a wave of high in his body, and he can’t help but to smile; it’s cruel, but there’s a twisted pleasure in what he’s doing, in seeing that much hated face agonizing under him, being the one who’s causing such pain.

He shivers at the sensation and he moves down, biting his lower lip. He could do anything to him now and he’ll just take it.

 

He can make him submit.

 

 

Nelo is so pliant, letting V do everything he wants to him, and V doesn’t waste any time as he licks, scrapes and bites at his skin, not caring if he’s going to break it even more than it already is.

A chill runs down his spine every time he would raise his eyes to his, seeing that neutral expression, as if he wasn’t really there, so he does his best not to look, focusing instead on his collarbone, beginning to grind his hips against Nelo’s naked skin. For once the fact that it took him so long to get even such simple comforts as clothes plays to his advantage, and V has Nelo at his completely mercy.

 

The scratch marks V leaves heal immediately, a shame. He would’ve loved to see how they would’ve looked on him, making him feel even a bit of the pain that has become his constant companion.

 

It seems that Nelo is slowly awakening to his senses, if that even makes sense; his lips are slightly parted and it looks like his body _is_ feeling what V is doing to it, judging by the way he’s already erect between his legs.

V doesn’t stop not even for a moment, still grinding and pushing Nelo to the ground, and he can’t help but to grin at this feeling because yes, even if it’s a dream, even if it’s not real, he has the higher ground and Nelo can’t do anything about it.

 

… Right, _he can’t do anything about it_. It’s not in his nature: he has to serve, he has to endure.

He’s been broken exactly for this reason.

 

V can only stare at Nelo’s face in horror and disgust for himself.

What is he doing? _That’s him_.

That broken body, that broken mind… _that’s him_ , the result of years of torture.

 

All the repressed pain surfaces once again and V closes his eyes, trying to fight the tears that are about to come out. No, he has to be stronger than this. He has to resist.

 

He looks down again, but this time there’s nothing but pity in his eyes.

How broken he is, how pitiful, how weak.

 

This time, V kisses Nelo slowly, more carefully, barely brushing his lips against the other’s, and he’s surprised when he feels Nelo react to this, his body that shivers under that soft touch.

Maybe, even if this is just a dream, V can make Nelo feel loved and cared for. They one and the same, and V needs this too, desperately so.

He wraps his arms around the other, keeping him close; the contact between their naked skins is warmer now and V exhales, savouring this sensation. Nelo is still, but he can feel him relax under his touch.

 

 

V’s careful when he lowers himself against Nelo, keeping his erection still with one hand while he’s resting the other on Nelo’s chest for support. He bites his lower lips, his brow furrowed in concentration as he welcomes him inch by inch inside of him.

Once he’s fully seated, he reaches for Nelo’s hands, gently guiding them to his waist; he needs to be held, he wants to feel something – anything – against his body, as if that could be enough to make this feel more real. But it is real, right? These sparks of pleasure can’t just be all in his mind.

 

He moans, V, but there are cries mixed to those noises of pleasure.

Looking at how obedient the Nelo is, how absent he looks, V can’t help but to pity him despite the anger he still feels for him. In the end, that’s him and will always be him; there’s no way to undo the damage of his stupidity, to undo everything he went through.

They may look different, but after all how different is V from Nelo? They’re both broken.

 

The grip on his hips tighten, and when he looks down, V can finally sense the slightest hint of emotion on Nelo’s face; he must be close, but so is V who keeps going despite the pain in his bones. It’s almost unbearable but he doesn’t stop; he doesn’t want to.

It’s when he feels Nelo explode inside of him that he reaches his own orgasm, biting his fingers to muffle a moan, his teeth piercing the flesh enough to draw blood.

It should feel good, this, right? And yet V only feels emptier than before. He doesn’t know whether he should pity Nelo of himself more.

 

He hasn’t even realized he closed his eyes until they snap open from the surprise feeling Nelo move under him; he’s – for lack of a better term – _hugging_ him. Yes, there is no mistaking that.

It shouldn’t be so warm, it shouldn’t feel like this. Hell, Nelo isn’t supposed to act this way and V can’t fathom the reason behind this gesture but it feels _good_ – not right, but good, and that has to be enough.

 

 How sad is it, that he has to be the one to love himself?

 

At least it feels comforting, even if just a bit, but V knows he can’t ask for more, that the fact that he’s receiving this is already a big deal.

How curious, the human condition: we always need to be loved; if not, we feel empty.

Maybe there’s something human in Nelo too – something that Mundus hasn’t completely managed to break – because he keeps V close, and he gives the impression that he needs it too, maybe even more than V will ever do.

 

And who is V to deny him?

His movements are soft when he passes a hand through Nelo’s hair, gently intertwining his fingers on those white locks, the same as his under all that black ink.

His movements are becoming more and more difficult though, and V is feeling his conscience slipping away. It must be time to wake up, and yet… he doesn’t want to let go.

He holds onto Nelo, burying his face against his neck, doing his hardest to gain some more instants of warmth, not knowing what will happen next time he falls asleep.

 

Wallowing in self pity like this… V can’t help but to smile at the thought of how mad he would’ve been about this had the circumstances been different.

He isn’t that kind of person anymore; pride has only hurt him and V knows it will never take him anywhere.

Pride is for fools.

 

 

When V slowly opens his eyes, he can’t help but to be disappointed. As bittersweet as it was, as empty as it might’ve felt, he’s never been better, which might not be much given how short his life has been – _and will be_ , a voice in his head tells him.

He shivers and he knows he can linger no more: he has a brother to find and a mess to take care of. He can’t waste any time wondering what could’ve been or running towards an inexistent image.

 

He gets up, and he allows himself to think about the weird dream he just had. He checks himself but his clothes are pristine, as if nothing happened to his body while he was asleep; there’s no sign of the moment he shared with his former self, but maybe that’s for the best.

V doesn’t have time to analyze all this, so he’ll just accept it as another strange happening that he lived through – a happening that has a deeper meaning that he will ever admit to the world, and most importantly, to himself.

 

He should focus on the task ahead, on what’s really important. After all, he doubts he’ll survive this, so it would be useless to waste time wondering about himself.

His gaze becomes determined as V reaches for his can, knowing exactly what he has to do, who he has to find: he’ll put an end to his own foolishness.


End file.
